sometimes people experiencing psychosis and/or mania will come up to you on the street and talk in confusing or upsetting ways. your job is to either have a regular human-to-human conversation with that person or politely leave. your job is not to call 911. do not call 911. you might kill that person if you call 911.
I don't even have the energy to screenshot and respond to your tags- what the actual fuck is wrong with you? "the cops are scared and rightfully so" "mental health calls are the scariest for cops" OH so this isn't about the safety of psychotic & manic people this is about piggy feelings?
and no, actually, this is not USA specific and no, actually, people from other countries should not ignore this post. police violence and sanism weren't invented in the US and they are certainly not unique to here. if you (or anyone) thinks that this bullshit doesn't happen elsewhere then you are not listening.
Guess who’s back with a vengeance when it comes to Fitzward fics (for approximately one day before I start Nanowrimo)! That’s right, it’s me, ya girl. It’s Halloween, and @fitzwards and I have been watching a whole lot of a certain BBC drama that fits nicely with this particular holiday. I figured, before I jump into working on Nano, what better way to wrap up, then with a little bit of an AU fic?
Without further a-boo (I’m hilarious), here it is…
Happy Halloween!
“Are you going to tell him, or am I going to tell him?”
Leo sat up in his seat at the kitchen table, turning around to stare at his flatmate. He wasn’t sure, exactly, when Jemma had gotten there, but she had a habit of sneaking up on people. She could be eerily silent when she wanted to, and it had made for more than one near heart attack in the last year that they’d all been living together in Bristol.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leo lied, squinting at her. She had that look about her, the one that said she was up to no good, and wasn’t going to be dissuaded from that. It had been done, before, but Leo was fairly sure that he hadn’t been the reason she’d been swayed from her path.
Because I can, I wrote Steph giftfic for our anniversary. We have a Domesticverse for Fitzward that we’ve been building since about January of 2014, and that continues to grow. I wanted to write something in that verse, because it’s the original, and the one that started everything off. Our Homebase-AU, if you will.
So, without further ado…
When Grant thinks back on what Leo’s hands did the first time they met, he can’t entirely believe that those same hands are in his, a gold band shining on one.
[Also on ao3]
__________________________________
When Grant first met Leo, one of the first things the other did was take the communicator unit from his hands. That was, probably, the first time Grant noticed them.
Leo was – is – an engineer. He worked with his hands. It was what he did, and because of it, his hands were skilled, controlled and careful. There was no difference in the skill and care that they used in taking the communicator from him or in smashing it, perhaps only the level of force. If he hadn’t been so thrown off by the sight of this slight, Scottish Sci-Ops agent destroying his brand-new equipment – while his lab partner forcibly swabbed his mouth – he might have taken the time to notice the elegance of those hands then.
Of course, they do always say that hindsight is 20/20.
That was the first time that they’d met. Grant had heard of Leo. Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons. Two of the youngest graduates of SHIELD Academy to date, brilliant minds, and a duo to be reckoned with. In the early days, Grant was assured that the reckoning would only come in the form of extreme annoyance. The two of them could be freaky, in a Doublemint Twins kind of way, now and then. That didn’t account for the way they went into the field; she, bright-eyed and ready, he with a level of trepidation and uncertainty that seemed wise until it got in the way of Grant doing his job.
people will really come into kink spaces and say you can't forcefem women like there wasn't a feature length movie about an elderly gay man forcefemming a woman as part of scheme to thwart an elaborate assassination attempt before the killer even determined their target
Not that I think all marriages are doomed but when deciding who to marry you should ask yourself “is this someone I’d want to divorce?” As in, is this someone I believe would be mature and fair, even when they’re upset and don’t particularly like me at the moment. Is this someone I could continue to trust while going through an adversarial process? And if the answer is no, don’t marry them.
Pairing: Matt x mutant!fem!Reader Word count: 4.2k [Series Masterlist] [Matt Murdock Masterlist]
tags/warnings: 18+; dark themes/content, canon typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, PTSD, smut, plot twists, fluff and angst, torture, mentions of sexual abuse, canon divergence, Reader has a fake name & is Matt's neighbor
a/n: Can you guess who's made an appearance at the end of this one? All comments and reblogs are very, very appreciated!
Sitting cross-legged on the small bed in your confined quarters, a tray of food lay balanced along your lap. It consisted of the same three things that you were always given for dinner–plain baked chicken, steamed vegetables, a scoop of bland brown rice. Healthy, flavorless, simple. Your enjoyment wasn’t factored into meals, only your nutrition.
With a fork in hand, you half-heartedly speared a steamed carrot and brought it to your lips, but when you caught movement outside the clear glass of your cell from your peripheral, you paused. Looking up from the tray in your lap, you spotted Doctor Barlowe making her way down the hall dressed in her typical pencil skirt and blouse, the outfit partially covered by the white lab coat she always wore. Those thick, black glasses sat perched on her nose, and her hair was pulled up high into a tight bun. But it wasn’t Doctor Barlowe who ultimately held your attention, because someone else was trailing along just at her heels.
You’d seen the young girl plenty of times throughout the years that you’d grown up here, though you’d never been allowed much opportunity to speak with her. They referred to her as Test Subject 648, and she appeared to be around the same age as you. You assumed that was why you both were occasionally paired up to complete your studies while sitting adjacent to each other in the study rooms, but the study room rules were clear–there was absolutely no fraternizing allowed.
You'd never been allowed to say much to each other, and any time you’d ever tried to initiate a conversation, you were harshly reprimanded and severely punished for it. But that never stopped your growing curiosity about her. You wanted to know who she was, why she was here, and if they did the same things to her that they did to you. You wondered if she was like you, if she could do the same strange things that you could. You assumed she must, otherwise why else would she be stuck in The Facility?
Eyes tracking the girl as she continued down the hallway, you quietly studied her as your fork remained hovering beside your mouth. She looked a little different, as if her hair somehow had gotten even darker in the unknown length of time that'd passed since you’d last seen her. Brows furrowing a little in confusion, something felt off about her appearance as she walked down the sterile, white hallway outside of your cage.
It was still her, though. You could tell by the profile of her face and that timid way she carried herself behind Barlowe. She always moved around the same way when you saw her–fearful, anxious, uncomfortable. As if she was afraid of being caught doing the wrong thing, her head often ducked as she hid behind the curtain of her dark hair. You'd come to learn that fear of punishment worked well to keep her in line even if you occasionally toed it.
As if she could feel your eyes on her as she passed by your cell, her head marginally raised and her dark hair fell away from her face. Turning her head a fraction over her shoulder, she looked over at where you sat on your bed. Both of your eyes locked through the thick pane of glass, and the corner of her lips drew back so minutely that you barely caught the faint smile she’d sent you. You were quick to return one of your own before she abruptly ducked her head again, obediently following after Doctor Barlowe as if that miniscule interaction hadn’t happened.
Except it had. And you knew what it meant–an unspoken offer of friendship.
Slowly returning to consciousness, you awoke to the monotonous drone of infomercials coming from across the room as the memories of your childhood faded away. Nose scrunching at the sound of a nearby television, confusion flooded your groggy, sleep-addled mind. Beginning to blink your eyes gradually open, you squinted at the instant barrage of sunlight that hit them and your confusion only increased. Your bedroom was never this bright when you woke in the morning, and you didn’t have a TV in there. This wasn’t your bedroom, so where were you?
Feeling the stirrings of fear trickle its way through your veins like ice, your heart started to thump a frantic rhythm inside of your chest. Terrified that you’d been dragged somewhere else while you’d been asleep, you sucked in a sharp breath and held it. But as you opened your eyes again and they adjusted to the bright light, the familiar sight of your living room came into focus just before last night's events fully returned to you.
You’d simply fallen asleep on the couch in your living room. You were still safely inside of your apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, no one had carted you off anywhere else against your will. Letting your eyes fall shut at the realization, you took a few deep, steadying breaths in an attempt to calm the sudden swell of panic that’d surged within you.
You were safe. You were home. There was no reason to be afraid.
With your body back under control, you opened your eyes and recounted the night before as you stared at the infomercial on your screen, barely aware of the nonstick pan being marketed. You figured that Matt must have left sometime early this morning after you’d passed out. But considering how you were laying across the entirety of the couch now, you assumed that he must’ve laid you down and made you comfortable before he’d gone back to his own apartment across the hall. Your stomach dropped at the realization that he’d had to navigate his way out of your place alone without his cane, though there was nothing you could do about it now.
Pushing yourself groggily upright on the couch, you threw a hand up to stifle the yawn that fell out of you. Turning to look over the back of your sofa and into your kitchen, the time on the stove glared back at you in green: 6:57. Surprised that it was almost seven already–which meant you needed to get on your computer and log in for work before you were late–you started kicking the blankets off of yourself. Turning off the television, you darted up from the couch and hurried across the living room before roughly collapsing into your computer chair and turning on your computer.
You managed to clock into work just one minute before you were officially considered late. But unfortunately, having woken up so late this morning meant that you’d have to wait for a shower until you’d finished for the day. With a heavy, defeated sigh, your shoulders sunk as you opened up a few programs and started to settle in. But as the first few minutes of the day dragged by, you found yourself staring blankly at your screen, unable to focus on the lines of code in front of you.
Your mind kept drifting back to Matt’s unexpected visit last night. You thought about the strange sensation that always seemed to pass over your skin when he was near you, that gentle tickle that absolutely baffled you. You’d certainly felt something akin to static electricity when he touched you last night, when he’d let you guide him into your apartment. In all the time you’d interacted with people–which was admittedly limited–you’d never felt that before with anyone else. You’d never encountered someone who’d had such an odd effect on you.
Part of you wondered if it was just the effects of having a crush on someone, because you assumed that’s what you were experiencing now. Not that you’d ever really experienced that before, because it wasn’t like you’d had the opportunity to form positive attachments to anyone while you’d been trapped in The Facility. You’d read about crushes in books though, and you’d heard plenty of characters talk about them in movies and television shows. Maybe that’s all it was. A simple crush on your neighbor. One that you needed to ignore and push aside.
Sliding your desk chair back, you decided that you needed a coffee. Some caffeine would help you concentrate on work instead of on your attractive neighbor. The attractive neighbor that you needed to remember was solely your friend and nothing more. Trying to shake the thoughts from your mind, you crossed the short distance into your kitchen and stopped in front of your espresso machine.
You pushed a button and the machine whirred to life, beginning to heat up while fresh beans started to grind out into the portafilter. Reaching up into the cabinet above you, you grabbed a coffee mug and pulled it down. Going through the familiar motions of tamping down the grounds and attaching the portafilter to the machine, your mind still continued to drift and wander this morning. You placed your mug on the drip tray, and while the shot began to pour out, you turned and rested a hip against the kitchen counter.
Your tired eyes inevitably found their way back to the couch in your living room, your plush green blanket strewn along the cushions in a mess from where you’d kicked it off of yourself. Despite your best attempts to concentrate on something else, you could still recall the warmth of Matt’s solid body pressed against your side as you’d sat together on that very couch watching a movie last night. He’d smelled just faintly of cedar and clove, a comforting scent that’d gradually relaxed you after the nightmare that you’d woken from.
Your eyes slowly closed and you couldn’t help but remember the soft baritone of his voice beside your ear each time he’d spoken, and the pleasant way his hot breath brushed over the side of your face. Teeth pulling at your bottom lip, you wondered how it would feel to snuggle up against him on the couch after a nightmare instead of just sitting beside him. You wondered how it would feel to have those thick, strong arms pull you into his lap and have those calloused fingers soothingly running over your arms as they calmed you. You wondered if his skin smelled even stronger of that warm, rich scent, and if you buried your face against his neck, you were certain you could get lost in it.
But the face in your mind’s eye abruptly shifted without warning, and the illusion was quickly broken. The soft, gentle hazel eyes you’d been able to admire last night became the frightening dark ones which constantly haunted you. Plush lips quirked into a friendly smile turned into a thin, pompous grin. All the strong, warm features of Matt’s face twisted into the sharp, cold angles of another.
The second his face grew clear in your mind with that familiar twisted smile, your eyes snapped back open. Your pulse jolted as you cowered back against the counter behind you, your hands anxiously gripping the edge of it. The espresso machine softly sputtered as it finished pouring out the last bits of the shot, and all of your muscles went taut at the sound.
“Little dove, little dove,” he cheerfully sing-songed.
“He’s not here,” you reassured yourself, quickly shaking your head back and forth. Your eyes began sweeping your apartment, scanning the large, open space for any trace of him. “He's not here,” you repeated. “It’s in my head. I’m just imagining it. This isn’t real.”
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
Clamping your eyes firmly shut, your jaw clenched tight as your teeth grit together. The palms of your hands grew damp against the counter, and you felt your grip on it beginning to slip. The hair along the back of your neck prickled in fear when you swore you inhaled the expensive sharp tang of his cologne.
“You’re not here!” you shouted into your kitchen. “Go away! Leave me alone!”
“You were meant for me.”
You felt something brush against your cheek–the lightest graze of fingertips–and your eyes flew open in a panic. A shrill scream crawled itself from your throat, echoing around the empty apartment. With a trembling hand, you grabbed your coffee mug from under the espresso machine and threw it across the room. The steaming brown liquid of freshly brewed coffee rose out of the mug in an arc before splattering along the floor, and the ceramic cup shattered in pieces moments afterwards.
“Leave me alone!” you yelled.
Nothing but the sound of the traffic on the street far below came in response to your panicked plea. Finally losing your grip on the counter, you began to gradually sink down to the floor, your back sliding against the cabinet behind you. Burying your face in your hands, a choked sob fell out of you as tears sprung hot and wet along your waterline before spilling over and dampening your palms.
“Just leave me alone,” you begged softly, voice cracking. “Please, just–just leave me alone.”
Still wound up from last night's nightmare and this morning’s far-too-real scare which had you launching a perfectly good coffee mug across the kitchen, you'd left on another run after you'd finished work. You’d needed an outlet for your pent up nerves, something to help calm you down and settle your mind because you couldn’t risk losing control over yourself. It had taken you far too long and cost you far too much to suddenly go backwards because of your nightmares.
But having only managed a few hours of sleep over the past few days, you were noticeably drained this evening. You’d already lost track of how long you’d been out running, having circled your way around Hell’s Kitchen and towards a nearby park that you often jogged through, but you could finally feel your lungs stinging from the cold air.
Eventually slowing to a walk, your hands fell to your hips as you attempted to catch your breath. Your legs ached and burned from how hard you’d pushed them tonight, and you knew it was time to head home. You needed to shower, make dinner, and hopefully pass out into a dreamless sleep for once. And you certainly didn’t want to be out after the sun had fully set.
Breathing heavily, your chest continued to rapidly rise and fall as you maneuvered your way out of the park and back into the city foot traffic. Letting the soothing music in your earbuds help calm your earlier nerves, you navigated your way through the sea of people all around you. New York City was nothing like Anchorage, Alaska. Despite having enjoyed the more remote city where you’d spent a bit of your hard-earned freedom, you'd come to feel comforted among the endless sea of people that lived in New York City over the past couple of weeks. This was a place where someone could blend in and disappear.
Beads of sweat dripped down your back, gliding down the length of your spine beneath your shirt as you slipped past a woman loudly complaining on her phone. Continuing down the street in the direction of your apartment building, you contemplated what to cook for dinner with the minimal energy you had. But as you passed an alley, something darted out and latched onto your arm before roughly yanking you off balance and straight off the sidewalk. The force of the pull had managed to knock your earbuds loose from your ears, and the little purple devices descended to the pavement.
Before you even had an opportunity to react to the situation, you were ripped off your feet and thrown straight through the alley. Your back slammed forcefully into a brick wall right between two dumpsters, and the impact knocked the air completely out of your lungs. Wheezing for breath as you doubled over, a distorted, gargled noise came out of your mouth as pain shot itself through your body, your muscles stinging from the blow. You’d hit the brick with a devastating force.
You needed to get control of the situation. You’d been trained to fight your entire life, so you shoved your surprise aside and began to straighten. Though whoever had attacked you hadn’t given you time to recover, and something dark appeared in your line of sight just before you felt a hand wrap itself around your throat. Fingers squeezed around your windpipe before your feet were dangling in the air, your back scraping along the jagged brick behind you as someone lifted you single-handedly by the throat. The weight of their grip cut off your airflow, and as your vision grew hazy and splotchy, your mind abruptly flashbacked to the straps that used to restrain you at The Facility. Beginning to kick your legs wildly in a frenzy, you thrashed violently in their hold, desperately struggling to break free from it.
But it was no use. Their hand only tightened further around your throat, causing you to choke and sputter against the wall. White dots began to cloud your vision as your hands grabbed onto their wrist, tugging and pulling in an attempt to break their grasp on you. But nothing you did seemed to have any effect on them. Whoever had grabbed you was abnormally strong. Far stronger than the average person, and far stronger than even you.
Had they finally found you then? Were they dragging you back to your glass cage? Were you never to see the sunlight again, doomed to be endlessly tormented and tortured until they finally killed you? Panic shot through you like lightning and your nails began viciously clawing at their wrist as a familiar tremor vibrated in your skull. It was no longer a debate about whether to use your abilities or not, staying out of The Facility was worth ruining all those years of trying to be normal, but a voice beneath you cut through your attempt to concentrate.
“Who the fuck are you?” your attacker demanded.
Ignoring their question, clarity washed over you in an instant as you struggled to breathe. You would not go back to that cage. You would not go without a fight. Trying to quell the rising panic, you became keenly aware of the fact that you were running out of time before you fell unconscious from the lack of oxygen to your brain. You didn’t know what would happen to you then, but you could certainly imagine plenty of horrible scenarios. So you would survive by whatever means necessary.
Switching your focus away from the searing pain in your empty lungs and the failing buzz in your mind, you stopped kicking your feet and carefully pulled your legs up beneath yourself. With the soles of your shoes flat against the wall behind you, you abruptly pushed off of it with all of your remaining strength, successfully surprising your assailant. In their brief moment of shock, you were able to remove their grip from your throat before twisting their arm behind their back as they fell face first onto the cement. You fell onto them from behind, contorting their arm at an unnatural angle behind their body. Placing a knee into their back, you pressed with all of your weight and forced them to stay down.
Gasping for air, you tried to fill your burning lungs with oxygen again. As you sucked in each large gulp of air, you were finally able to get a look at your attacker. It was a woman. Slim with dark hair. Not someone you’d ever seen before, no one you recognized. Able to think more clearly now that you weren’t being strangled, you also realized that someone working for The Facility wouldn’t have asked who you were because they’d have already known. So why had this woman ambushed you? What did she want from you?
“Who the hell are you?” you pressed, though some of the bite was lost due to your breathlessness.
The woman let out a grunt beneath you, and before you knew what was happening, she swiftly swung the arm you’d been holding behind her back. The force of her throw was so strong that you once again went flying through the air as if you weighed nothing to her. This time your back slammed into the metal dumpster with a loud bang. The metal molded slightly around your body at the violent impact, and you were yet again left choking for air, tears stinging at your eyes as you sat helpless on the alley floor. You had clearly underestimated her strength.
“I’m pretty goddamn sure I asked that first,” she spat, pushing herself back onto her feet.
Readjusting her leather jacket, the dark haired woman crossed the distance towards you, her eyes narrowed into a piercing glare at where you sat slumped against the dumpster. Still fighting to catch your breath, you were incapable of doing much to stop her approach.
“And after witnessing what you just did,” she continued. “I’m definitely going to need an answer. So who the fuck are you?”
You shook your head, chest still heaving as you panted pathetically on the ground. “Why–why do you want to know?” you hoarsely croaked out. “What do you–you want from me?”
Her lip curled back in irritation as she stopped just in front of you, towering over you on the ground. “I want to know if you’re working for him,” she growled. “Because I think you’re the one who’s been stalking me, aren’t you? The one taking all the photos of me for him?”
The woman dropped down to one knee in front of you, her hand darting out fast before her fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt. She balled it into her fist before yanking you towards her like a ragdoll, but your mind was still spinning and trying to process what she was talking about. None of it made sense.
“What are you to him?” she snapped. “One of his mindless zombies? Someone he tricked? Or are you as sick of a fuck as he is?”
Forehead creasing in absolute confusion, you gently shook your head despite the pain it caused. You had absolutely no idea what the hell she was raving about. “Who?” you asked. “Who’re you–?”
“Kilgrave,” she spat the name. “Why does he have pictures of me? And why does he have a framed picture of the two of you? One he risked his life to make sure he took with him."
Without warning, she slammed her fist into the metal dumpster so forcefully that the metal indented just inches from your head. But you’d barely registered the metallic crunch beside your ears, your entire body reacting to the single name she’d just spoken.
"Who are you?” she snarled. “Tell me!”
With each question that tumbled out of her mouth, it caused the world around you to shift and spin. Your chest constricted, closing around your lungs like a vice. Throat feeling as if it was abruptly closing up, you felt your entire world shatter and crumble around you.
His face appeared in your mind for the second time today. That twisted, dark smile and the dangerous glint in his brown eyes. You could smell the expensive cologne he always wore, the scent of it rolling into your nose like a deadly poison.
"Little dove."
Beginning to hyperventilate, each breath felt like a knife stabbing you straight through the chest over and over. With every rapid beat of your heart violently hammering inside of you, tears began to burn your eyes. When your body started trembling, the woman’s hand instantly released your shirt, but whatever she’d said came muffled and distorted through your ears. All you could see was him now, grinning back at you as if he’d once more invaded your mind.
"You belong to me, little dove."
“No,” you whispered.
His laugh echoed in your ears, and you swore you felt his warm breath fanning down the back of your neck. Eyes snapping shut, your hands rose and started hysterically clawing at your throat, nails scraping against your skin so hard they’d leave marks. Because this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be here. You’d gotten away from him.
“You’re mine, little dove.”
“No,” you gasped, choking on the word.
A second voice called out through the alley, so faint that you could barely hear it. With how fast your blood was rushing through your veins, and how hard you were gasping for air, you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your own ragged breaths. Everything began fading around you, as if you were falling deeper and deeper down a tunnel. But you couldn’t make it stop. You couldn’t quiet the sound of muffled screaming, not aware if it was coming from you or if you were imagining it.
Only one thought came muddied through the glaring panic overtaking your entire body before everything went dark: Kilgrave was in New York City, and you were no longer safe.
**Originally an old (240k) Matt x OFC fic of mine that I'm overhauling into a Matt x mutant!fem!Reader fic**
Pairing: Matt x mutant!fem!Reader [Matt Murdock Masterlist]
tags/warnings: 18+; dark themes/content, canon typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, PTSD, smut, plot twists, fluff and angst, torture, mentions of sexual abuse, canon divergence, Reader has a fake name & is Matt's neighbor
All you'd ever wanted was your freedom–a chance at a "normal" life. Under a false name you move to Hell's Kitchen attempting to escape your past, but your past can't stay buried when your powerful and dangerous ex finds you. Forced to come to terms with who you are in order to protect the life you've built, you eventually learn there's secrets about yourself that you never even knew…
**Originally an old (240k) Matt x OFC fic of mine that I'm overhauling into a Matt x mutant!fem!Reader fic**
Pairing: Matt x mutant!fem!Reader [Matt Murdock Masterlist]
tags/warnings: 18+; dark themes/content, canon typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, PTSD, smut, plot twists, fluff and angst, torture, mentions of sexual abuse, canon divergence, Reader has a fake name & is Matt's neighbor
All you'd ever wanted was your freedom–a chance at a "normal" life. Under the simple guise of Olivia Allen, you move to Hell's Kitchen in New York in an attempt to escape your past, but your past can't stay buried when your powerful and dangerous ex finds you. Forced to come to terms with who you are in order to protect the life you've built, you eventually learn there's secrets about yourself that you never even knew...
How very depressing that Neil Gaiman had trended not even a tiny bit for demonstrating what a fucking horrific person he is.
As a reminder, he's suing Caroline Wallner, one of his accusers, for breaking her NDA. Not for libel. He's saying she shouldn't have told anyone about it, not that she lied.
The author says Wallner broke her NDA by sharing her story with the media, including with New York Magazine.
He doesn't need the money. He's risking the Streisand effect. He is punishing Caroline, he's trying to intimidate other victims who have signed NDAs to scare them into continued silence.
He is no friend to women, to the LGBTQIA+ community, to anyone quite frankly unless he thinks they are of value to him.
Share the story. Put it on Facebook and bluesky and whatever else you're on. Make it clear what a horrifying person he is. Tell your friends. He's paying Edendale a fortune to try and cover this up. Make this hard for him. Make it cost him money.
We have reached a point where there is nothing left for us to rely on except this message. We are holding on as much as we can, but everything around us is slowly collapsing, and fear is taking over my young children more with each passing day.
The tent is not safe—rats, insects, and fleas come in at night. My children are terrified; they scream from fear, and sometimes they even wet themselves. What have they done to deserve living through all this suffering?
Right now, we need anyone who can stand by us.
All I need is $5,000 to buy a caravan that will save my children from the terror they are living in, so they can feel safe like other children around the world. But simply, we do not have this amount.
Please do not let us go through this alone. Even the smallest act of kindness could make the difference between survival and losing everything.
My mother needs urgent surgery, and we are still $700 away while her time is slipping from our hands.
I am watching her fade in front of me, powerless to stop it.
Please don’t leave us alone in this moment.
Anything you give could be the reason she survives.
She needs urgent surgery now… and I’m watching her slip away, unable to save her alone.
Please don’t ignore this donate or share, it could save her life.
